Written for prompt #149 at all_unwritten. Prompt: Torture
It was just torture. He sat there, listening to the distant noises, the banging, the murmurs, trying to catch a sense of what was happening beyond the wall. The temperature rose, subtly at first, then more noticeably. Not too hot, not here, but it would definitely be hotter in the room where she’d gone. His knee began to jiggle with tension as he tried to hold himself in check.
Not now, not yet. Just wait a little longer. It shouldn’t take much longer.
But then the smell arose, that smell, a bit of acrid tingle mixed with the familiar scent, that ever so tantalizing aroma. It wafted in, and he couldn’t wait another moment.
Putting down his book, he strode through the dining room and into the stuffy kitchen. The oven door was open, and she was just sliding in another pan. Her back was to him; this was his chance! He reached out for the still pliable, still warm confection. As he bit into it, the sweet crumbliness mixed with the smooth, dark puddles of chocolate, and he tasted the subtle flavor of the walnut as it met his tooth. He could have died right then and been happy.
He turned, almost flinching, like a little boy snitching cookies from his mother’s kitchen. Only he wasn’t a boy anymore, and it was his own kitchen he stood in.
His wife shook her head. “If you’re that desperate, there are some over here that browned a bit too much and I won’t be taking to the bake sale. Help yourself to those.”
He finished the cookie he’d stolen, then sauntered over to the racks she’d indicated. Picking up a cooled, crisper cookie, he planted a chocolatey kiss on her neck. Such delicious torture, such a test of his will, and one he failed every time. Chocolate chip cookies, his one true weakness.